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Bailey has a backpack on and a little wheelie suitcase, while Mia has a massive purse over her shoulder and a full-size suitcase. Dark smudges under her eyes betray her exhaustion, and she doesn’t even get that usual bulldog expression on her face when she sees me.
She looks…defeated.
I hate it. It’s wrong. Mia is made of spitfire and attitude. This woman with hunched shoulders and bags under her eyes isn’t Mia. She’s some stranger who snatched her body.
Holding the elevator door open, I usher them inside and clench my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching for the woman standing on the other side of the elevator, as far from me as she can get. Every cell in my body wants to wrap her in my arms and tug her into my chest, but what right do I have?
Instead, I just stare at the display above the door, counting the numbers to the third floor. When we get there, the girls follow me down the hallway to number 312. I open the door and lead them inside.
Bailey immediately rushes in, drops her bags, and says, “Whoa! Look at the fridge! It’s silver, just like the one at Georgia’s house. Ours is old and white. Can we get a silver fridge when we move back in, Mom?” Bailey glances at Mia, then shakes her head. “Or not. It’s probably super expensive.”
Mia cringes, like she’s embarrassed, then hides it behind a smile. She kisses Bailey’s head, then squares her shoulders and faces me. “Thank you. Do you need anything from me? Need me to sign anything…?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m right across the hall, so if there are any issues, just knock. Or call. Or text.” I clear my throat. “I’ll call a plumber tomorrow, so we’ll be at your place in the morning. Is that okay?”
Mia stares at me for a beat, then frowns. “You’re right across the hall?”
I point at the door marked309. “That’s me.”
She seems taken aback but recovers quickly. “Okay. That’s fine about the plumber, go in whenever you need to.” We stare at each other for a while. I’m not sure how long; I lose track of time. Finally, Mia’s eyes widen slightly and she says, “Well…goodnight.”
Right. Knowing when I’m dismissed, I take one big step so I’m on the other side of the threshold, then watch the door close with a soft snick. After a pause that seems almost thoughtful, the deadbolt slides home.
3
MIA
Sippinga coffee after I come back from dropping Bailey at school the next morning, I do a thorough inspection of the condo Des provided.
Resentfully, I admit to myself that it’s nice. The beds boast pillow-top mattresses, the sheets are silky-soft, and the towels are fluffy. This place ismuchbrighter than mine. There’s a big, leafy tree outside the living room windows, with its leaves all different shades of green and yellow, and it gives the September sunlight a golden glow. The appliances are brand new, and the furniture is solid and well-made. There’s artwork on the walls that looks relatively generic and inexpensive, but still tasteful.
Bailey loves it. I had a heck of a time getting her to bed when she wanted to explore every nook and cranny in the place. This morning, I woke up to the sound of kitchen cupboards opening and closing with steady bangs, and Bailey exclaiming at the fact that there was even milk in the fridge for us.
I walked into the kitchen and saw her staring at the distorted reflection of her face in the dishwasher’s stainless-steel front.
Oh, yeah—there’s a dishwasher. I haven’t had one of those since I moved out of my ex-husband Colin’s house.
I smiled at Bailey and made her some breakfast—she opted for some oatmeal that she’d found in one of the cupboards instead of her usual bowl of cereal that I brought from home—but all the while I felt like I’d let her down. Bailey should have the best of the best. She shouldn’t be amazed by a dishwasher.
I felt like I’d failed her in a thousand new ways, and I was just waiting for her to realize it too.
Now, as I sip a coffee and glance around the space, the hardwood floors, the abstract geometric rug under the leather couch, the shiny appliances, I still feel the same inadequacy. Bailey deserves all this and more, but I haven’t been able to provide for her. I’ve given her the bare minimum, and she’s turned into the best kid I could ask for.
What if I’d given her a home with a yard and a dog and… Gosh, afather? What if she didn’t have to choose between soccer and basketball, and I could afford to pay for both?
A buzz from the intercom pulls me out of my torrent of self-flagellation. Frowning, I head for the little white box by the front door and press the button.
The box lights up, and I see Georgia’s face in the little grainy screen. Two more heads poke into view—Simone and Fiona.
“Georgia?”
“Hi, girl,” Georgia answers, smiling. “We come bearing coffee and pastries.”
“How did you find me?”
Simone elbows her way to the front. “Mia. Stop talking. This almond croissant smells delicious, and my stomach is growling. Let us in.”
Grinning, I press the button to unlock the door. Then I prop my front door open and flutter my hands near my chest. I haven’t had guests in a long, long time. I rarely have people over to my home, because it’s so small and dingy that I’m embarrassed.
